At night, they come to me, speaking softly at first,
sometimes in a whisper, as they reach out across
Time and Space, searching for a loving soul who
Buried in the darkness of unfathomable dreams,
in a wooden coffin of my own creation, I listen
to the voices of the Holocaust.
“Why?” the bewildered voices ask me in unison.
I imagine the phantom faces, dark wounded eyes
mounted on bony flesh peering at me from the
other side of the shattered universe, and I can’t
utter one word of comfort.
The ghosts are still trapped and wandering in the
death camps, I think. Lost souls of Yesterday
seeking peace of mind.
“I’m trying to understand,” I confess.
“We all are. Yet no one knows.
The Holocaust is incomprehensible.
It’s the reason I lost my faith.
And yet, it is why I search for
“Someday, perhaps, we will understand.
Until then, I will listen to your voices
at night and inhale your anguished
“And we shall be one.”